The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 27: Lord of the Berwick Islands (5)

Things settled into a happy routine for most of his first month in the Berwick Islands.

After the dawn prayer, Simon would spend his mornings either holding court with Anna—and sometimes her father—listening to grievances and arbitrating them, or training with his retainers. He would then eat with visiting dignitaries from around the Berwick Islands until he had been introduced to every noble, merchant, clergyman, or landowner of note in the region. It was all the easier to settle in as an authority figure since Lord Paimon regularly visited the capital to keep tabs on Louis and Euphemia, sometimes for very long periods.

His afternoons usually alternated between social activities required of his position—namely, lots and lots of hunting with other local nobles or the occasional administrative visit—and training. When Lord Paimon was home, he mostly tutored his future son-in-law on imperial administration and military tactics in preparation for the inevitable civil war, and when he wasn’t, Simon would explore the Poison Gardens with his allies. He would have preferred to focus on that first and foremost, but Lord Paimon had convinced him otherwise.

“The Overlord is first and foremost a ruler-type Class,” Lord Paimon had told him. “These hunts and visits might seem like a waste of time to you, but I assure you they’ll pay for themselves eventually. Moreover, repeating the same task has diminishing returns. In the absence of occasions for grand exploits, steady variety is your best path to leveling up.”

He turned out to be right. Simon’s group had mapped most of the Dungeon’s upper floors, and though they found no treasures, they did clear them out of monsters until he finally hit level nineteen. One of these noble hunts let him reach level twenty two weeks later.

Level 19 Overlord Perk: Unyielding Essence II (Passive): You are Immune to Poison, Energy-draining effects, and Disease; though you may still carry and spread the latter, you simply show no symptoms.

Level 20 Overlord Perk: Miasmic Archmage II (Passive): You can learn and cast spells up to Tier II, but only those fueled by miasma.

Finally, no more poisonings. He had found it weird that he could grant others an immunity to that ailment before unlocking it himself.

As for his evenings, Simon always spent them with Anna. Sometimes they would read books, play board games, or just drink. They always ended up in bed one way or another, with Tiella occasionally joining in.

The couple only really kept separate bedrooms so as not to offend the Church of the Light, but Simon could tell their relationship was an open secret from the way he caught the maids giggling at them in the hallways, or the fact that the castle’s pharmacist regularly supplied Anna with contraceptives. She had joked that Simon would have 'put a bun in the oven' by now without them, and she was probably right.

He had never been in a long-term relationship before, nor so… so happy, so content. Simon thought he would have been happy becoming an adventurer and reveling in a life away from court, but that was because he had never enjoyed the perks of the lifestyle, nor the domesticity of having a woman like Anna in his life. The dates on when Vouivre or Casval had slain him in earlier reigns flew by without a fuss. He had cheated death for the time being.

Of course, not everything was going well. Duchar still refused to help without a personal meeting; the newspaper confirmed both the Treasurer Malphas’ and his daughter's demise; and Telluria faced beastmen and scalefolks' revolts. It seemed that Vouivre was set on causing trouble in the region even without the miasma crystal.

It was when Lord Paimon returned from his latest trip to the capital that Simon realized the respite wouldn’t last much longer.

“The cracks are showing,” he told Simon and Anna. “I don’t think we’ll be able to keep Balzam’s death from the world much longer. Shabram’s spies confirmed that the elves of Illusea somehow learned of it and reported the news to their allies in Lore, Muse, and Valne.”

The elven empire of Illusea—the very first and oldest nation in the world—had been Endymion’s main geopolitical threat since its inception and the only other rival superpower. Blessed with the Worldtree’s mana and the wisdom of its immortal population, it had developed the most advanced spells and technology in all of creation. The elves would likely have taken over the world by now if not for their reliance on their homeland’s mana to support their longevity, which bound them to their borders and limited their ability to project force beyond them.

Illusea had nonetheless cultivated a large network of allies and spies across the world, and their leader bore the Oracle Noble Crestone. It didn’t surprise Simon that they would have moles in Castle Frightwall capable of reporting the truth to them.

“All news and information in the empire is centralized and under Imperial Intelligence, so we can suppress the truth within our borders easily enough,” Lord Paimon said. “But people talk, and foreign nations will seek to exploit the situation. The truth will become painfully obvious once a crisis hits us and no Overlord appears to guide us to victory.”

“What of Casval?” Anna asked, with Simon keeping his mouth shut. “Have they caught him yet?”

“Louis lost track of him in Telluria, which is shaken by revolts,” her father replied. “He’s likely dead.”

Eaten by his sister, Simon thought. At least Eole appeared to have wisely taken his advice and avoided returning to Telluria, which removed one source of headaches.

“Have you found any Crestone I could use?” he asked his future father-in-law.

Lord Paimon’s uneasy scowl was an answer in itself. “Louis remains Marshal of the empire, so reassigning Crestones obtained by the army falls under his purview. He placed his men in charge of the supply, and my agents could not gain access to them.”

“And he won’t grant us access to one unless we support his claim,” Anna guessed.

Lord Paimon nodded grimly. “I might be able to find one on the black market, but that will take time and money. Patriate Malphas’ sudden demise threw the empire’s finances into chaos on top of it.”

“Who killed him?” Simon inquired. That part had remained a mystery in his previous reigns.

“We’re still not sure, but if I had to guess, it was probably Euphemia. The fool Patriate was always a fence-sitter, and while he supported the Church Party’s policies, he had grown closer to Louis recently. Euphemia probably had him killed before he could jump ship.” Lord Paimon crossed his arms. “Patriate’s death worries me less than Firewand’s disappearance.”

That caught Simon’s full attention. “Firewand is gone?”

“She vanished from Frightwall around the time of Patriate’s assassination,” Lord Paimon confirmed. “No one knows where she went, and she’s too strong for divination to track her down. I’m not sure if these two events are connected.”

They could be,

Simon thought. Vouivre wasn’t able to meet Firewand in the past reign, and yet Patriate still died, so she can’t be behind it… could someone else know how to circumvent the slave crest? I should have tested its limits when I had the chance.“We have more pressing matters to deal with,” Lord Paimon said. “Louis and Lauriane are securing their control over imperial legions while Dassein is busy with the Tellurian beastmen. On the other side, Thalas is aggressively recruiting allies among the military academy’s nobility, and his sister Norbelle is set to marry the crown-prince of Cocagne. Euphemia can also count on High Confessor Mastemo’s support, including his Inquisitors and Templars.”

“In short, everyone is building up their forces until the other side fires the first shot,” Anna guessed.

“My plan is for us to take a strict policy of neutrality and portray ourselves as mediators,” Lord Paimon said. “Each side wants us in their corner, and they know attacking Berwick means we will declare for the other camp, which grants us a degree of protection…” His gaze lingered on Simon. “For a time.”

The message was clear. The holiday would soon come to an end.

It was time to venture down into the Poison Gardens’ lower depths.

The deeper they advanced into the Dungeon, the more flooded the floors became.

Simon had figured as much when they found their first flight of stairs down, partly drowned in water reaching up to the waist. He wisely had Meredith strike the area with a Lightning Spear first, which shocked a group of giant fish who had no doubt been waiting for them to enter their hunting ground.

Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Simon quickly turned them into undead with his Deathmastery II Perk. It worked rather simply. All he had to do was touch their corpses to animate them. The resulting creatures were so mindless that they wouldn’t do anything without receiving an order and possessed limited intelligence, but they had their uses.

“Go around and return if you find any safe passageway,” Simon ordered his fish zombies. They vanished, only for one to swiftly come back. “This way.”

“Lady Anna won’t be with us today?” Meredith inquired once she, Leonard, Simon, and Lorimir stepped into the now harmless water.

“Tiella is unwell,” Simon explained. “Anna decided to stay at her bedside today.”

“The contraceptives sicken her,” Leonard said flatly, causing Meredith to blush. “His Majesty's visits leave their trace.”

Simon winced a bit. “Is that reproach I hear in your voice, Leonard?”

“My sister may share her bed with whoever she wishes, and there is no shame in being the Overlord’s mistress.” Leonard took a deep breath. “However, she is promised to Duke Flauros’ son, who supports Lord Louis. I fear that such conflicting entanglements may endanger her safety.”

Simon hadn’t considered that. True, Flauros was married to Patriate’s sister, whose murder would have only solidified his allegiance to the War Party. What would happen to her once she was forced to comply with the marriage?

The very thought sickened Simon for some reason. Tiella was a shy and demure girl, if lacking Anna’s fiery personality. She didn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in a game of politics.

Perhaps Anna and I are doing her a disservice by involving her in our affair, Simon thought as they walked through the flooded corridor and entered what appeared to have once been a library of fine marble bookshelves. The moisture had long turned the books there into piles of dust and lumps of moldering moss. Its end will hurt all the more.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Their speed of exploration slowed as the few crystals embedded in the walls that had served as their main source of light so far began to flicker.

“Fire Saber,” Simon cast as he wreathed his sword in flames to provide a measure of light. He had to settle on using a claymore since his energy-draining mace was still in Telluria.

Meredith’s weapon enchantment training had also begun to pay off. Although it remained much easier for Simon to stick with Dark Saber, he had learned how to change the spell’s affinity to Fire, Frost, and Lightning. This let him cover the most common elemental weaknesses, and Simon hoped to master the remaining ones within the next month.

Lord Paimon had unfortunately yet to find him a miasma-focused teacher of Duchar’s caliber, so the rest of his spellcasting research mostly revolved around bookreading so far.

“It seems people lived here once,” Meredith said after they passed through the library. “Yet the air is foul.”

“It is a place born of the Dark, that is certain,” Lorimir said with reverence. “Magic twisting air and stone.”

Simon had assumed as much when an earlier attempt to claim the area as his own Dungeon only resulted in his miasma crystal shattering. The power claiming this place eclipsed his own and had already set its tendrils across the entire structure.

“Have you learned more about these Poison Gardens’ origins, Lorimor?” Simon inquired.

“Somewhat,” the Scholar confessed. “Although the origin of the name remains unclear, I did find records of this place in old texts. It was apparently an eidolon temple.”

“An eidolon?” Leonard asked, suddenly on edge. “What kind?”

“That I am unsure,” Lorimor replied. “Fragmentary texts and the carvings portray a water deity of some kind that blessed and cursed in equal measure, but this location was abandoned long before Emperor Magnos raised Carcas on top of its corpse.”

Simon recalled that eidolons—which the Church of Light disdained as false gods—were creatures born from a large accumulation of mana, the same way demons arose from miasma. They were the physical manifestation of people’s beliefs, dreams, and memories, incarnated into a living creature. Most eidolons were fearsome creatures that became the object of cults of worship and could form contracts with visionaries like Empress Euphemia to be called in times of need.

Endymion’s policy was to subjugate and capture all eidolons found within their territories so they could be bound to imperial summoners as war machines. Simon doubted his father and Lord Paimon would have abandoned this site without binding the creature first. He found it more likely that the locals mistook whatever Zodiac Fiend spawned from this dungeon’s miasma crystal for an eidolon and turned to worship it.

Enslave the gods… t’was one of the commandments Father left me, Simon recalled. Did it refer to eidolons?

They reached another set of stairways, with the air growing fouler there. A notification appeared in front of Simon the moment he inhaled it.

Poison ailment negated by Unyielding Essence.

“The air is poisoned,” Simon warned his troops. “Do your brands protect you?”

“Yes,” Leonard confirmed. His other retainers nodded one after the other.

As it turned out, Simon had confirmed that he could apply more than one type of mark to a single person. Every single one of his three allies bore the Brands of Sloth and Gluttony with no ill effect; with the latter’s ability to give immunity to the Poison and Disease ailments finally proving useful.

The air grew damp and toxic as the group climbed down the stairs. Sickly greenish fumes floated away from the depths below with a stench fouler than sulfur, and vile moss began to cover the stonesteps.

The descent seemed to go on and on forever, to the point Simon began to feel fatigue in spite of his own unnatural vitality. His unease turned to wariness when he saw a faint light source at the bottom of the stairs, and then amazement when they exited through a stone arch threshold.

A garden awaited them beneath the earth.

A colossal cavern the size of Castle Carcas opened up before them, its stone walls covered in luminescent moss, giving it the lighting of a damp, cloudy night. A vast and dark forest stretched out in front of them, the oaks’ bark closer to stone in density than wood, the ground boggy and slimy. A titanic tree loomed in the distance, thicker than a tower and taller than a hill, its blackened leafless branches supporting the ceiling above them. Mushrooms and mold growing on its surface breathed out poisonous green mist into the air, while its gnarly roots drank from polluted ponds fueled by the water from the upper levels.

“By the Light…” Meredith whispered behind Simon. “Is that a manatree?”

“A long-dead one,” Leonard confirmed. He glanced around the area, his sword and shield drawn for a fight he knew would come. “It is an ill omen.”

As much as Simon agreed, he couldn’t help but find beauty in this strange place. To think that such a strange ecosystem could prosper deep beneath the earth, without anyone even suspec–

Thump.

His heart turned to the stone in his chest.

Simon’s entire body froze on instinct, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He felt he had been suddenly struck like lightning powerful enough to bring him to his knees. The way his allies stilled around him only confirmed his worst suspicions.

Every instinct screamed at him to run, the same way they had when he encountered Vouivre… no, no, that wasn’t the same. This time was even worse.

Lord Paimon was mistaken. Although he and his troops had cleared out the upper levels of dangerous monsters, the true threat in the Dungeon remained beneath his notice.

Something extremely, monstrously powerful lurked nearby.

“Retreat,” Simon immediately ordered. He had danced with death too often to take risks here. “Retreat–”

It was too late.

Death walked out of the woods.

The vile, emaciated creature that stepped out from under the shadow of a tree might have been human once, but it was long dead and rotten, its steps carrying a palpable weight. Strips of scroll parchments, dusty tome pages, and other documents glowing with shining scripts were wrapped around its emaciated body, while a hooded leather cloak of stitched book covers flowed from its shoulders in spite of the lack of wind. The smell of ink and putrefaction hung over it like a cloud, and short-lived afterimages trailed behind the entity when it moved. The only exposed portion of its body was a blackened skull whose toothless jaws led into a bottomless black hole, a Crestone incrusted on the forehead glowing above two empty pits of seeping smoke glaring at him.

Instadeath negated by Unyielding Essence.

Simon heard three ‘thumps’ behind him; one for each of his companions.

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the true horror of his situation crept upon him.

“You are not young Balzam.” The undead’s low, masculine voice was a rattle in a coffin, a deep, dark sound no living creature should ever make. He spoke in a dialect Simon did not recognize, but that his Overlord Perks translated anyway. “So a new Overlord disturbs my meditations.”

Simon slowly dared to peek over his shoulder. Three corpses lay on the ground behind him, their Class outfits disrupted, their eyes empty, their skin pale. None of his allies showed any sign of wounds or anything of the sort.

They had just died on the spot.

Meredith, who had trained him with professionalism; Lorimor, who while a creep, still descended into a dangerous Dungeon at his command; and Leonard, who had been worrying for his sister mere minutes before. All slain in an instant, and Anna would have been among them had she been here.

Simon had lost his comrades, and Tiella had just lost her brother. What was he supposed to tell her… if he survived that long?

“Aw, they fell down?” The undead’s voice now carried a mocking edge. “My apologies. My Thoughts on Mortality automatically kills anything twenty levels below me within a certain range, which is everyone below level 80 nowadays. I very much loathe unexpected visitors, you understand?”

It didn’t take Simon long to grasp the terrifying implications of that particular statement, not to mention the vast gulf in strength between them. If that undead wasn’t lying, then even the likes of Vouivre would die in his mere presence.

Simon’s mind wandered to his father’s list of deaths, to a name which had claimed his life at least three times…

“You are the Berwick Lich,” Simon whispered, his sword raised for battle. He knew he was already dead, and that battle was futile, but he would not die on his knees.

The undead stared at him for a moment. Though Simon sensed no aggression coming from it, the ancient malice in its blackened gaze was palpable.

“Which reign are you on, child?” he asked without fanfare.

Simon’s heart skipped several beats in his chest. Had he misheard? “What did you just say?”

“I asked you which reign you are on. It must be an early one, if my countenance so frightens you and if you bother to surround yourself with such weaklings.” The undead peered at Simon with those two black holes that served as his eyes. “Do you fear triggering the failsafe if you answer me? You need not fear anything. I helped His Dark Majesty Mardok to craft the Crimson Throne long ago. I know of the cycle.”

That… that was impossible. Simon knew from experience that the Crimson Throne punished every attempt to share information on the cycle with murder. How could this undead learn of it? If he wasn’t lying and indeed helped the first Overlord, then…

“The seventh,” Simon dared to say, expecting phantom hands to strangle him for sharing the Overlord’s most important secret.

He said the words, and he didn’t die.

“The seventh? So soon?” The Berwick Lich let out a deep rattle heavy with disappointment. “So nothing I do this time matters. How unfortunate. What is your name?”

Realizing that the undead wouldn’t kill him so long as he answered—and might provide precious information while at it—Simon decided to play along. “Simon Magnos.”

“Magnos?” The undead sounded oddly pleased. “It delights me to hear the Overlord Class remains within our line. We truly are His Dark Majesty’s heirs.”

“Our line?” Simon immediately put two and two together, to his immense disbelief. “Could you be–”

“You seem to have figured out my identity, yet you are clearly a child fumbling in the dark. What brought you here in the first place? Did you stumble your way into my den like some baseborn adventurer?”

Simon’s tongue clicked in his mouth. “A voice in my head called me below.”

“A voice? The Scorpion? Its voice should not carry to the surface, unless…” The undead looked up to the ceiling. “Which year is it outside?”

“Four hundred and three After Doom.”

“So soon? Then a new revolution is around the corner.”

“A new revolution?” Simon frowned in confusion. “I… I don’t understand.”

“It would take a long time to explain, and I suppose you will see it for yourself during your reigns.” The Berwick Lich let out a deep, sinister noise which Simon quickly recognized for a dark chuckle. “Without a host, all the Scorpion can do is whisper and entice… for now. I would suggest vacating this castle of yours within this year or the next. The Scorpion will be the last to wake up before the Serpent-Bearer ends the parade, and my guardian oath to His Dark Majesty has long expired. I shall not interfere with its escape so long as it does not bother me.”

None of this made any sense, but Simon could tell deep within his bones that this creature held the answers to all of his questions. He had somehow stumbled on an entity—perhaps the only one in the entire world—that could enlighten him. It was such a momentous occasion that he was willing to let his vassals’ death slide this once.

“Are you speaking about the Zodiac Fiends?” Simon pushed. “How many of them–”

“No, I do not think I will tell you anything,” the undead cut in dismissively.

“I can pay for your knowledge!” Simon insisted, forgetting that he was talking to a centuries-old monster capable of killing him on the spot for a moment. “Whatever you need, I can–”

“I have been here before, child.” A sinister light glowed within the monster’s empty eye sockets. “Any information I give you, you will use to gain my trust in a future reign and swindle more secrets from me for free. Moreover, you lack the power to assist me in any productive task yet. Come back in…” The undead briefly scratched its cheekbone as it pondered its answer. “Ninety reigns or so? Then mayhaps we can reach an agreement that benefits us both.”

And that was it. The Berwick Lich dismissed Simon with a wave of his hand like a king sending a courtier on his way with three corpses to show for it. He didn’t even wait for an answer.

“Since I am a family man and we are kin, I shall allow you to leave this place and return to the surface unharmed… this time.” The Berwick Lich raised a gnarled finger towards the ceiling. “Interrupt my meditations again and I will burn the island above our heads to the ground, then smother you with the ashes.”

That wasn’t even a threat, but a fact. The ancient evil would kill Simon and everyone else if he so much as disturbed him again, and no one would so much as slow him down.

“Now leave me to my solitude, and take the corpses with you. I already have too many of them in storage to bother with more.” The undead raised his head and seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. “How to proceed... Should I reanimate a primitive abomination and unleash it upon the Worldtree? Or finally exterminate the elves? So many possibilities open up themselves without the prospect of consequences…”

“At least…” Simon gulped as he realized he was pushing his luck, but he needed to know. “At least tell me your name. Tell me if you really are him.”

For a brief and terrifying instant, it looked as if the lich would murder him on the spot for speaking out of turn. He stared at Simon in deep silence, then slowly nodded to himself.

“I am Elios Magnos,” he confirmed with unbearable pride, “The Writer of the End, first and only wielder of the Librarian Noble Crestone, faithful apostle of Archdemon Mardok Endymion, the one they call Elfbane and the Abhorred.”

Then he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Your ancestor.”